"She is a lucky girl, Terence," Ryan said, as they quitted the
shop. "She will be the envy of all the peasant girls in the
neighbourhood, when she goes to church in all that finery, to be
married to her muleteer."
"It has only cost about twenty pounds, and I value my freedom at a
very much higher price than that, Dick. If I had not escaped, I
should not have been in that affair with Moras that got me my
promotion and, at the present time, should be in some prison in
France."
"You would not have got your majority, I grant, Terence; but
wherever they shut you up, it is morally certain that you would
have been out of it, long before this. I don't think anything less
than being chained hand and foot, and kept in an underground
dungeon, would suffice to hold you."
"I hope that I shall never have to try that experiment, Dicky,"
Terence laughed; "and now, I think you had better go into this
hotel, and order lunch for us both. It is just as well not to
attract attention, by two of us riding to that lane. We have not
done with Marmont, yet, and it may be that the French will be
masters of Salamanca again, before long, and it is just as well not
to get the old man or the girl talked about. I will leave my horse
here, too. See that both of them get a good feed; they have not had
overmuch since we crossed the Aqueda."
As there were a good many British officers in the town, no special
attention was given to Terence as he walked along through the
street, which was gay with flags. When he reached the house in the
lane, the old man was standing at the door.
"Nita is in now, senor. She has not told me why you wanted to see
her. She said it was better that she should not do so, but she
thought she knew who it was."
The girl clapped her hands, as he entered the room to which the old
man pointed.
"Then it is you, Senor Colonello. I wondered, when we heard the
English were coming, if you would be with them. Of course, I heard
from Garcia that you had gone safely on board a ship at Cadiz. Then
I wondered whether, if you did come here, you would remember me."
"Then that was very bad of you, Nita. You ought to have been quite
sure that I should remember you. If I had not done so, I should
have been an ungrateful rascal, and should have deserved to die in
the next French prison I got into."
"How well you speak Spanish now, senor!"
"Yes; that was principally due to Garcia, but partly from having
been in Spain for six weeks, last autumn. I was with Moras, and we
gave the French a regular scare."
"Then it was you, senor! We heard that an English officer was in
command of the troops who cut all the roads, and took numbers of
French prisoners, and defeated 5000 of their troops and, as they
said, nearly captured Valladolid and Burgos."
"That was an exaggeration, Nita. Still, we managed to do them a
good deal of damage, and kept the French in this part of the
country pretty busy.
"And now, Nita, I have come to fulfil my promise," and he handed
her the box in which the jeweller had packed up his purchases.
"These are for your wedding, Nita, and if it comes off while we are
in this part of the country, I shall come and dance at it."
The girl uttered cries of delight, as she opened parcel after
parcel.
"Oh, senor, it is too much, too much altogether!" she cried, as she
laid them all out on the table before her.
"Not a bit of it," Terence said. "But for you, I should be in
prison now. If they had been ten times as many, and ten times as
costly, I should still have felt your debtor, all my life.
"And where is Garcia now?"
"He has gone to join Morillo," she said. "He always said that, as
soon as the English came to our help, he should go out; so, six
weeks ago, he sold all his mules and bought a gun, and went off."
"I am sorry not to have seen him," Terence said. "And now, Nita,
when he returns you are to give him this little box. It contains a
present to help you both to start housekeeping, in good style. You
see that I have put your name and his both on it. No one can say
what may happen in war. Remember that this is your joint property;
and if, by ill fortune, he should not come back again, then it
becomes yours."
"Oh, senor, you are altogether too good! Oh, I am a lucky girl! I
am sure that no maid ever went to church before with such splendid
ornaments. How envious all the girls will be of me!"
"And I expect the men will be equally envious of Garcia, Nita. Now,
if you will take my advice, you will not show these things to
anyone at present; but will hide them in the box, in some very safe
place, until you are quite sure that the French will never come
back again. If your neighbours saw them, some ill-natured person
might tell the French that you had received them from an English
officer, and then it might be supposed that you had been acting as
a spy for us; so it is better that you should tell no one, not even
your uncle--that is, if you have not already mentioned it to him."
"I have never told him," the girl said. "He is a good man and very
kind; but he is very timid, and afraid of getting into trouble. If
he asks me who you are and what you wanted, I shall tell him that
you are an English officer who was in prison, in the convent; that
you always bought your fruit of me, and said, if you ever came to
Salamanca again, you would find me out."
"That will do very well. Now I will say goodbye, Nita. If we remain
here after the French have retreated, I will come and see you
again; for there will be so many English officers here that I would
not be noticed. But there may be a battle any day; or Marmont may
fall back, and we should follow him; so that I may not get an
opportunity again."
"I hope you will come, I do hope you will come! I will bury all
these things, this evening, in the ground in the kitchen, after my
uncle has gone to bed."
"Well, goodbye, Nita. I must be off now, as I have a friend with
me. When you see Garcia, you can tell him that you have given me a
kiss. I am sure he won't mind."
"I should not care if he did," the girl said saucily, as she held
up her face. "Goodbye, senor. I shall always think of you, and pray
the Virgin to watch over you."
After Marmont fell back across the Douro there was a pause in the
operations and, as the British army was quartered in and around
Salamanca, the city soon swarmed with British soldiers; and
presented a scene exactly similar to that which it had worn when
occupied by Moore's army, nearly four years before.
"What fun it was, Terence," Ryan said, "when we frightened the
place out of its very senses, by the report that the French were
entering the town!"
"That is all very well, Dick; but I think that you and I were just
as much frightened as the Spaniards were, when we saw how the thing
had succeeded, and that all our troops were called out. There is no
saying what they would have done to us, had they found out who
started the report. The very least thing that would have happened
would have been to be tried by court martial, and dismissed from
the service; and I am by no means sure that worse than that would
not have befallen us."
"Yes, it would have been an awful business, if we had been found
out. Still, it was a game, wasn't it? What an awful funk they were
in! It was the funniest thing I ever saw. Things have changed since
then, Terence, and I am afraid we have quite done with jokes of
that sort."
"I should hope so, Dick. I think that I can answer for myself, but
I am by no means sure as to you."
"I like that," Ryan said indignantly. "You were always the leader
in mischief. I believe you would be, now, if you had the chance."
"I don't know," Terence replied, a little more seriously than he
had before spoken. "I have been through a wonderful number of
adventures, since then; and I don't pretend that I have not enjoyed
them in something of the same spirit in which we enjoyed the fun we
used to have together; but you see, I have had an immense deal of
responsibility. I have two thousand men under me and, though Bull
and Macwitty are good men, so far as the carrying out of an order
goes, they are still too much troopers, seldom make a suggestion,
and never really discuss any plan I suggest; so that the
responsibility of the lives of all these men really rests entirely
upon my shoulders. It has been only when I have been separated from
them, as when I was a prisoner, that I have been able to enjoy an
adventure in the same sort of way that we used to do, together."
"I little thought then, Terence, that in three years and a half,
for that is about what it is, I should be a captain and you a
major--for I don't count your Portuguese rank one, way or the
other."
"Of course, you have had two more years' regimental work than I
have had. It would have been much better for me if I had had a
longer spell of it, too. Of course, I have been extraordinarily
fortunate, and it has been very jolly; but I am sure it would have
been better for me to have had more experience as a subaltern,
before all this began."
"Well, I cannot say I see it, Terence. At any rate, you have had a
lot more regimental work than most officers; for you had to form
your regiment, teach them discipline, and everything else; and I
don't think that you would have done it so well, if you had been
ground down into the regular regimental pattern, and had come to
think that powder and pipe clay were actual indispensables in
turning out soldiers."
The quiet time at Salamanca lasted a little over a fortnight for,
in the beginning of July, Lord Wellington heard that, in obedience
to King Joseph's reiterated orders, Marmont, having received
reinforcements, was preparing to recross the Douro; that Soult was
on the point of advancing into Portugal; and that the king himself,
with a large army, was on the way to join Marmont.
The latter, indeed, was not to have moved till the king joined him
but, believing that his own army was ample for the purpose; and
eager to gain a victory, unhampered by the king's presence, he
suddenly crossed at Tordesillas, and it was only by his masterly
movements, and a sharp fight at Castile, that Wellington succeeded
in concentrating his army on the Aqueda. The British general drew
up his army in order of battle, on the heights of Vallesa; but the
position was a strong one, Marmont knew the country perfectly and,
instead of advancing to the attack, he started at daybreak on the
20th, marched rapidly up the river, and crossed it before any
opposition could be offered, and then marched for the Tormes. By
this movement he had turned Wellington's right flank, was as near
Salamanca as were the British, and had it in his power, unless
checked, to place himself on the road between Salamanca and Ciudad,
and so to cut their line of retreat.
Seeing his position thus turned, Wellington made a corresponding
movement, and the two armies marched along lines of hills parallel
with each other, the guns on both sides occasionally firing. All
day long they were but a short distance apart and, at any moment,
the battle might have been brought on. But Wellington had no
opportunity for fighting, except at a disadvantage; and Marmont,
having gained the object for which he had manoeuvred, was well
content to maintain his advantage. At nightfall the British were on
the heights of Cabeca and Aldea Rubia, and so secured their former
position at San Christoval.
Marmont, however, had reached a point that gave him the command of
the ford at Huerta; and had it in his power to cross the Tormes
when he pleased, and either to recross at Salamanca, or to cut the
road to Ciudad. He had proved, too, that his army could outmarch
the British for, although they had already made a march of some
distance, when the race began, he had gained ground throughout the
day, in spite of the efforts of the British to keep abreast of him.
Moreover, Marmont now had his junction with the king's army,
approaching from Madrid, securely established; and could either
wait for his arrival, or give battle if he saw a favourable
opportunity.
Wellington's position was grave. He had not only to consider his
adversary's force, but the whole course of the war, which a
disaster would imperil. He had the safety of the whole Peninsula to
consider, and a defeat would not only entail the loss of the
advantage he had gained in Spain, but would probably decide the
fate of Portugal, also. He determined, however, to cover Salamanca
till the last moment, in hopes that Marmont might make some error
that would afford him an opportunity of dealing a heavy blow.
The next morning the allies occupied their old position at San
Christoval, while the French took possession of Alba; whence the
Spaniards had been withdrawn, without notice, to Wellington. The
evening before, the British general had sent a despatch to the
Spanish commander, saying that he feared that he should be unable
to hold his position. The messenger was captured by the French
cavalry; and Marmont, believing that Wellington was about to
retreat, and fearing that he might escape him, determined to fight
rather than wait for the arrival of the king.
The French crossed the Tormes by the fords of Huerta and Alba, the
British by other fords above Salamanca. This movement was performed
while a terrible storm raged. Many men and horses of the 5th
Dragoon Guards were killed by the lightning; while hundreds of the
picketed horses broke their ropes, and galloped wildly about.
[Illustration: Plan of the Forts and Operations round Salamanca.]
The position of the British army in the morning was very similar to
that occupied by a portion of it, when besieging the forts of
Salamanca; extending from the ford of Santa Marta to the heights
near the village of Arapiles. This line covered Salamanca; but it
was open to Marmont to march round Wellington's right, and so cut
his communications with Ciudad. During the night, Wellington heard
that the French would be joined, in the course of two days, by
twenty guns and 2000 cavalry; and resolved to retire before these
came up, unless Marmont afforded him some opportunity of fighting
to advantage.
The latter, however, was too confident of victory to wait for the
arrival of this reinforcement, still less for that of the king and,
at daybreak, he took possession of a village close to the British,
thereby showing that he was resolved to force on a battle.
Near this were two detached hills, called the Arapiles or
Hermanitos. They were steep and rugged. As the French were seen
approaching, a Portuguese regiment was sent to seize them; and
these gained the one nearest to them, while the French took
possession of the second. The 7th division assailed the height
first, and gained and captured half of it.
Had Wellington now wished to retire, it would have been at once
difficult and dangerous to attempt the movement. His line was a
long one, and it would have been impossible to withdraw, without
running the risk of being attacked while in movement, and driven
back upon the Tormes. Ignorant of Marmont's precise intentions--for
the main body of the French army was almost hidden in the
woods--Wellington could only wait until their plans were developed.
He therefore contented himself with placing the 4th division on a
slope behind the village of Arapiles, which was held by the light
companies of the Guards. The 5th and 6th divisions were massed
behind the hill, where a deep depression hid them from the sight of
the enemy.
For some time things remained quiet, except that the French and
British batteries, on the top of the two Hermanitos, kept up a duel
with each other. During the pause, the French cavalry had again
crossed the Tormes, by one of the fords used in the night by the
British; and had taken post at Aldea Tejarda, thus placing
themselves between the British army and the road to Ciudad. This
movement, however, had been covered by the woods.
About twelve o'clock, fearing that Wellington would assail the
Hermanito held by him, Marmont brought up two divisions to that
point; and stood ready to oppose an attack which Wellington,
indeed, had been preparing--but had abandoned the idea, fearing
that such a movement would draw the whole army into a battle, on a
disadvantageous line. The French marshal, however, fearing that
Wellington would retreat by the Ciudad road, before he could place
a sufficient force on that line to oppose the movement, sent
General Maucune with two divisions, covered by fifty guns and
supported by cavalry, to move along the southern ridge of the basin
and menace that road; holding in hand six divisions, in readiness
to fall upon the village of Arapiles, should the British interfere
with Maucune's movement.
The British line had now pivoted round, until its position extended
from the Hermanito to near Aldea Tejarda.
In order to occupy the attention of the British, and prevent them
from moving, the French force attacked the village of Arapiles, and
a fierce struggle took place. Had Marmont waited until Clausel's
division, still behind, came up and occupied the ridge, so as to
connect the French main army with Maucune's division, their
position would have been unassailable; but the fear that Wellington
might escape had overcome his prudence and, as Maucune advanced, a
great gap was left between his division and that of Marmont.
As soon as Wellington perceived the mistake, he saw that his
opportunity had come. Orders were despatched in all directions and,
suddenly, the two divisions, hidden from the sight of the French
behind the Hermanito, dashed down into the valley; where two other
divisions joined them. The 4th and 5th were in front, with
Bradford's Portuguese; and the 6th and 7th formed the second line;
while the Spanish troops marched between them and the 3rd division,
forming the extreme right at Aldea Tejarda. The light divisions of
Pack's Portuguese and the heavy cavalry remained in reserve, on
high ground behind them. In spite of a storm of bullets from
Maucune's guns, the leading divisions marched steadily forward and,
while the third division dashed across the valley and, climbing the
ridge, barred his progress, the main line advanced to attack his
flank.
Marmont, seeing the terrible danger in which Maucune was involved,
sent officer after officer to hasten up the troops from the forest
and, with his centre, prepared to attack the English Hermanito, and
to drive them from that portion of the village they still held; but
as he was hurrying to join Maucune a shell exploded near him,
hurling him to the ground with a broken arm, and two deep wounds in
his side. This misfortune was fatal to the French chances.
Confusion ensued, and the movements of the troops were paralyzed.
It was about five o'clock when the 3rd division, under Pakenham,
fell upon Maucune's leading division; and two batteries of
artillery suddenly opened fire, on their flank, from the opposite
height. Having no expectation of such a stroke; and believing that
the British were, ere this, in full retreat along the Ciudad road,
the French were hurrying forward, lengthening out into a long,
straggling line.
The onslaught of Pakenham's division was irresistible, supported as
it was by guns and cavalry. Nevertheless, the French bore
themselves gallantly, forming line as they marched forward, while
their guns poured showers of grape into the approaching infantry.
Nothing, however, could stop them. Pressing forward, they broke the
half-formed lines into fragments, and drove them back in confusion
upon the columns behind. The French cavalry endeavoured to check
the British advance, by a charge on their flank; but were repulsed
by the infantry, and the British light horsemen charged, and drove
them off the field.
Pushing forward, Pakenham came upon the second half of the division
they had defeated, formed up on the wooded heights; one face being
opposed to him, and the other to the 5th division, Bradford's
Portuguese, and a mass of cavalry moving across the basin. The
French had been already driven out of Arapiles, and were engaged in
action with the 4th division; but the battle was to some extent
retrieved, for Clausel's division had arrived from the forest and
reinforced Maucune; and spread across the basin, joining hands with
the divisions massed near the French Hermanito.
Marmont had been carried off the field. Bonnet, who had succeeded
him, was disabled; and the chief command devolved on Clausel, a
general of talent, possessing great coolness and presence of mind.
His dispositions were excellent, but his troops were broken up into
lines, columns, and squares. A strong wind raised the sandy soil in
clouds of dust, the sinking sun shone full in the faces of his
troops and, at once, concealed the movements of their enemies from
them, and prevented them from acting with any unity.
Suddenly, two heavy bodies of light and heavy cavalry broke from
the cloud of dust and fell upon them. Twelve hundred Frenchmen were
trampled down and, as the cavalry rode on, the third division ran
forward, at the double, through the gap that they had formed. Line
after line of the French infantry was broken and scattered, and
five of their guns captured by one of the squadrons. Two thousand
prisoners were taken, and the three divisions that Maucune had
commanded were a mass of fugitives.
In the meantime, a terrible battle was raging in the centre. Here
Clausel had gathered three fresh divisions and, behind these, the
fugitives from the left rallied. He placed three others, supported
by the whole of the cavalry, to cover the retreat; while yet
another remained behind the French Hermanito. Pack's Portuguese
were advancing against it, and arrived nearly at the summit, when
the French reserves leapt from the rocks and opened a tremendous
fire on their front and left flank; and the Portuguese were driven
down the hill, with much loss. Almost at the same moment, one of
the regiments of the 4th division were suddenly charged by 1200
French soldiers, hidden behind a declivity, and driven back with
heavy loss.
For a moment, it seemed that the fate of the battle might yet be
changed; but Wellington had the strongest reserve, the sixth
division was brought up and, though the French fought obstinately,
Clausel was obliged to abandon the Hermanito; and the army began to
fall back, the movement being covered by their guns and the gallant
charges of their cavalry.
The whole of the British reserves were now brought into action, and
hotly pressed them; but, for the most part maintaining their order,
the French fell back into the woods and, favoured by the darkness,
and nobly covered by Maucune, who had been strongly reinforced,
they drew off with comparatively little loss, thanks to the
Spaniards' abandonment of the fort guarding the ford at Alba.
Believing that the French must make for the ford of Huerta,
Wellington had greatly strengthened his force on that side and,
after a long march to the ford, was bitterly disappointed, on
arriving there at midnight, to find that there was no sign of the
enemy; although it was not until morning that he learned that they
had passed unmolested over the ford of Alba. Had it not been for
the Spanish disobedience and folly, Marmont's whole army would have
had no resource but to surrender.
Marmont's strength when the fight began was 42,000 infantry and
cavalry, and 74 guns. Wellington had 46,000 infantry and cavalry,
and 60 pieces; but this included a considerable Spanish force and
one of their batteries, and 10,000 Portuguese who, however, could
not be reckoned as good troops. The pursuit of the French was taken
up hotly next morning, and they were chased for forty miles that
day but, the next morning, they eluded their pursuers, marched to
Valladolid, drew off the garrison there, and left it to be occupied
by the British the following day.
The Minho regiment had been, two days before the battle, attached
to the 6th division. For a time, being in the second line, they
looked on, impatient spectators of the fight; but, at the crisis of
the battle, they were brought up to check Clausel's impetuous
counter attack, and nowhere was the struggle fiercer. Hulse's
brigade, to which they were attached, bore more than its share of
the fighting; and the 11th and the 61st, together, had but 160 men
and officers left when the battle was over. The Portuguese fought
valiantly, and the fact that their countrymen had been defeated, in
their attempt to capture the French Hermanito, inspired them with a
fierce determination to show that Portuguese troops could fight as
well as their allies. They pushed forward well abreast of the other
regiments of the brigade, and suffered equally.
In vain the French attempted to check their advance. Showers of
grape swept their ranks; volleys of musketry, at a distance of but
a few yards, withered up their front lines and, for a time, a
hand-to-hand fight with bayonets raged. In the terrible roar of
artillery and musketry, words of command were unheard; but the men
mechanically filled up the gaps in their ranks, and the one thought
of all was to press forward until, at length, the French yielded
and fell sullenly back, disputing every yard of the ground, and a
fresh division took up the pursuit.
The order to halt was given. The men looked round, confused and
dazed, as if waking from a dream. Grimed with powder, soaked with
perspiration, breathless and haggard, many seemed scarcely able to
keep their feet; and every limb trembled at the sudden cessation of
the terrible strain. Then, as they looked round their ranks and to
the ground they had passed over, now so thickly dotted with the
dark uniforms, hoarse sobs broke from them; and men who had gone
unflinchingly through the terrible struggle burst into tears. The
regiment had gone into action over 2000 strong. Scarce 1200
remained unwounded. Of the officers, Bull had fallen, desperately
wounded; Macwitty had been shot through the head.
[Illustration: A shell had struck Terence's horse.]
A shell had struck Terence's horse and, bursting, had carried off
the rider's leg above the knee. The men near him uttered a
simultaneous cry as he fell and, regardless of the fight, oblivious
to the storm of shot and shell, had knelt beside him. Terence was
perfectly sensible.
"Do one of you give me my flask out of my holster," he said, "and
another cut off the leg of my trousers, as high as you can above
the wound. That is right. Now for the bandages."
As every soldier in the regiment carried one in his hat, half a
dozen of these were at once produced.
"Is it bleeding much?" he asked.
"Not much, colonel."
"That is fortunate. Now find a smooth round stone. Lay it on the
inside of the leg, just below where you have cut the trousers.
"Now put a bandage round and round, as tightly as you can do it.
That is right.
"Now take the ramrod of one of my pistols, put it through the
bandage, and then twist it. You need not be afraid of hurting me;
my leg is quite numbed, at present. That is right.
"Put another bandage on, so as to hold the ramrod in its place. Now
fetch a flannel shirt from my valise, fold it up so as to make a
pad that will go over the wound, and bandage it there firmly.
"Give me another drink, for I feel faint."
When all was done, he said:
"Put my valise under my head, and throw my cloak over me. Thank
you, I shall do very well now. Go forward and join the regiment.
"I am done for, this time," he thought to himself, when the men
left him. "Still, I may pull through. There are many who have had a
leg shot off and recovered, and there is no reason why I should not
do so. There has not been any great loss of blood. I suppose that
something has been smashed up, so that it cannot bleed.
"Ah, here comes the doctor!"
The doctor was one of several medical students who had enlisted in
the regiment, fighting and drilling with the rest but, when
occasion offered, acting as surgeons.
"I have just heard the news, Colonel. The regiment is heartbroken
but, in their fury, they went at the French facing them and
scattered them like sheep. Canovas, who told me, said that you were
not bleeding much, and that he and the others had bandaged you up
according to your instructions.
"Let me see. It could not have been better," he said.
He felt Terence's pulse.
"Wonderfully good, considering what a smash you have had. Your
vitality must be marvellous and, unless your wound breaks out
bleeding badly, I have every hope that you will get over it. Robas
and Salinas will be here in a minute, with a stretcher for you; and
we will get you to some quiet spot, out of the line of fire."
Almost immediately, four men came up with the stretcher and, by the
surgeon's orders, carried Terence to a quiet spot, sheltered by a
spur of the hill from the fire.
"There is nothing more you can do for me now, doctor?"
"Nothing. It would be madness to take the bandages off, at
present."
"Then please go back to the others. There must be numbers there who
want your aid far more than I do.
"You can stay with me, Leon; but first go back to where my horse is
lying, and bring here the saddle and the two blankets strapped
behind it. I don't feel any pain to speak of, but it seems to me
bitterly cold."
The man presently returned with the saddle and blankets. Two others
accompanied him. Both had been hit too seriously to continue with
the regiment. Their wounds had been already bandaged.
"We thought that we should like to be near you, colonel, if you do
not mind."
"Not at all. First, do each of you take a sip at my flask.
"Leon, I wish you would find a few sticks, and try to make a fire.
It would be cheerful, although it might not give much warmth."
It was dark now. It was five o'clock when the 3rd division threw
itself across Maucune's line of march, and the battle had begun. It
was dark long before it ended but, during the three hours it had
lasted, the French had lost a marshal, seven generals, and 12,500
men and officers, killed, wounded, or prisoners; while on the
British side a field marshal, four generals, and nearly 6000
officers and soldiers were killed or wounded. Indeed, the battle
itself was concentrated into an hour's hard fighting; and a French
officer, describing it, said that 40,000 men were defeated in forty
minutes.
Presently the din of battle died out and, as soon as it did so,
Herrara and Ryan both hurried to the side of Terence.
"My dear Terence," Ryan said, dropping on his knees beside him,
"this is terrible. When I heard the news I was almost beside
myself. As to the men, terrible as their loss is, they talk of no
one but you."
"I think I shall pull through all right, Ryan. At any rate, the
doctor says he thinks I shall, and I think so myself. I am heartily
glad that you and Herrara have gone through it all right. What are
our losses?"
"I don't know, yet. We have not had time to count, but not far from
half our number. Macwitty is killed, Bull desperately wounded.
Fully half the company officers are killed."
"That is terrible indeed, Ryan. Poor fellows! Poor fellows!
"Well, I should say, Herrara, that if you get no orders to join in
the pursuit, you had best get all the wounded collected and brought
here, and let the regiment light fires and bivouac. There is no
chance of getting medical assistance, outside the regiment,
tonight. Of course, all the British surgeons will have their hands
full with their own men. Still, I only suggest this, for of course
you are now in command."
The wounded had all fallen within a comparatively short distance,
and many were able to walk in. The rest were carried, each in a
blanket, with four men at the corners. Under Ryan's directions, the
unwounded scattered over the hillside and soon brought back a large
supply of bushes and faggots. A number of fires were lighted, and
the four surviving medical students, and one older surgeon, at once
began the work of attending the wounded; taking the more serious
cases first, leaving the less important ones to be bandaged by
their comrades. Many wounded men from other regiments, attracted by
the light of the fires, came up; and these, too, received what aid
the Portuguese could give them.
The next morning Terence was carried down, at daybreak, on a
stretcher to Salamanca; where the town was in a state of the
wildest excitement over the victory. As they entered the gates, an
officer asked the bearers:
"Who is it?"
"Colonel O'Connor, of the Minho regiment."
The officer knew Terence personally.
"I am sorry, indeed, to see you here, O'Connor. Not very serious, I
hope?"
"A leg cut clean off above the knee, with the fragment of a shell,
Percival; but I fancy that I am going to get over it."
"Carry him to the convent of Saint Bernard," the officer said, to
the Portuguese captain who was in command of the party, which
consisted of 400 men carrying 100 wounded. "All officers are to be
taken there, the others to the San Martin convent.
"I will look in and see you as soon as I can, O'Connor; and hope to
find you going on well."
But few wounded officers had as yet been brought in and, as soon as
Terence was carried into a ward, two of the staff surgeons examined
his wound.
"You are doing wonderfully well, colonel," the senior officer said.
"You must have received good surgical attention, immediately on
being wounded. Judging by your pulse, you can have lost but little
blood."
"It hardly bled at all, Doctor, and I had it bandaged up by two of
my own men. I have seen a good many serious wounds, in the course
of the last four years; and know pretty well what ought to be
done."
"It has been uncommonly well done, anyhow. I think we had better
not disturb the bandages, for a few days. If no bleeding sets in by
that time, clots of blood will have formed, and you will be
comparatively safe.
"Your pulse is very quiet. Your men must have carried you down very
carefully."
"If I had been a basket of eggs, they could not have taken more
care of me. I was scarcely conscious of any movement."
"Well, you have youth and good health and good spirits in your
favour. If all our patients took things as cheerfully as you do,
there would not be so many of them slip through our hands."
Bull, who had been brought in immediately after Terence, was next
attended to. He was unconscious. He had been struck by a round shot
in the shoulder, which had not only smashed the bone, but almost
carried away the upper part of the arm.
"An ugly wound," the surgeon said to his colleague. "At any rate,
we may as well take off the arm while he is unconscious. It will
save him a second shock, and we can better bandage the wound when
it is removed."
A low moan was the only sign that the wounded man had any
consciousness that the operation was being performed.
"Will he get over it, Doctor?" Terence asked, when the surgeon had
finished.
"There is just a chance, but it is a faint one. Has he been a sober
man?"
"Very; I can answer for the last four years, at any rate. All the
Portuguese officers were abstemious men; and I think that Bull felt
that it would not do for him, commanding a battalion, to be less
sober than they were."
"That increases his chance. Men who drink have everything against
them when they get a severe wound; but he has lost a great deal of
blood, and the shock has, of course, been a terrible one."
An orderly was told to administer a few spoonfuls of brandy and
water, and the surgeon then moved on to the next bed.